


The Curious Case of Clint Barton

by CodeGreen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, Clint is a Jinx, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Curses, Domestic Avengers, Fluff and Humor, Ghosts, Halloween, Humor, M/M, Peter Parker Is Terrible At Secrets, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Phil Will Not Have This Shit, Pumpkin Bucky, Some straight up Halloween nonsense, Spice Racks As Significant Plot Point, Unamused Wanda, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodeGreen/pseuds/CodeGreen
Summary: ------"It's cursed." Loki brushed himself off. "Now terrible things will befall everyone you love. Tell me, Hawkeye, do you love me?"Clint folded up his bow. "Loki, of all the men that've been inside me, I like you the least.""Oh thank the gods!" He blew a kiss up to the sky."Aren't you a god?"Loki smiled. "And thankful for it every day."------OR: Either Loki is full of shit, or Clint's inherited an ancient curse. The fact that he already ruined date night is probably just a fluke.





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Let's enjoy some fall themed nonsense, yeah?

Date night was over hours before it started. When Clint barrel rolled into the street and accidentally dumped 80 bucks worth of duck breasts down a storm drain.

It was supposed to be his day off. He was supposed to "make time for us". No gym going. No Avenging. No paperwork. More Phil. He'd been to three different butcher shops, bought half the turnips at Gristedes, and made it halfway home before a poisonous snake shot past his head like a bullet.

He evaded, rolled into the street, and watched his dinner spill across 1st Avenue. Loki had already appeared and antagonized the monster before Clint could pull the weapons hidden in his boots.

One silver tipped arrow did the trick. The gorgon simply cracked, shattering and raining down thousands of silvery shards while Clint and Loki stood on the street. A smoking crater and a dainty tiara where the slithering beast once stood.

They both made their move.

Clint's arrow was easily dodged, but the explosion beside Loki's ear provided a proper distraction. He ran, slid into the tiara. Kicked it away. He nocked another arrow and watched the tiara explode, becoming fine diamond dust like the monster that had worn it.

Loki clapped sarcastically.

"Well done, Clint. Hawkeye. Mr Barton. Bang up job."

"You pout over your crown. I'm going home and making dinner."

"I didn't want it! It's hideous," Loki brushed glittering powder off his sleeve. "It's cursed. Now terrible things will befall everyone you love. I was going to take for safe keeping. But tell me, Hawkeye, do you love me?"

Clint folded up his bow. "Loki, of all the men that've been inside me, I like you the least."

"Oh thank the gods!" He blew a kiss up to the sky.

"Aren't you a god?"

Loki smiled, pleased Clint remembered. "And I'm thankful for it every day."

Then he was gone.

-

Debriefing was quick and painless. Demon harpie thwarted, Loki held at bay, good times all around. Clint filled out a few triplicate forms and got the thumbs up from medical before dinner.

Phil leaned against a wall, tucked away in their usual place. Alarmingly rakish for a man finishing up 12 hours of desk duties.

Clint dipped into the shadows when he knew the hallway was empty, ran a finger up Phil's tie.

"Hi."

"Of all the guys who've been inside you?" Phil shook his head.

"You heard that?"

"I hear everything once you activate that portable bow."

"It's not like it's a long list," Clint grabbed two fists of suit and pulled him in. Phil still looked over his shoulder before allowing himself a self-conscious peck.

"Hey," he brushed off the creases he made in Phil's jacket. "I fucked up dinner. Hero shit, you know?"

"Another night," Phil smiled, tired lines forming around his eyes. "Go join the others tonight if you want."

"I don't like the others." 

"You don't like anyone." The light beside the elevator glowed, illuminating Phil like the patron saint of dutiful employees.

"I like you."

"Just like or -," Phil took a deep step back when he heard employees empty out of the elevator. He pursed his lips and nodded at Clint, business mode activated.

"Clint!" Wanda's voice echoed down the hallway. She threw both arms around his neck. "You are just in time! We're slicing fruits."

He shot a worried look to Phil.

"They're carving pumpkins. Upstairs." If Coulson ever had to suppress a laugh, it never showed. "Ms Maximoff, good to see you."

-

Stark Tower was officially at capacity. Thor squeezed Clint so hard he spilt half his beer. Peter Parker was avoiding homework by carving pumpkins and eating miniature Butterfingers by the handful.

"Robin Hood! Pick one!" Peter pointed to the dozens of gourds lining the kitchen, jumped back when the electric knife in Tony's hands buzzed to life. He gripped it with both hands and sawed into his pumpkin with a cackle.

Clint waved at no one in particular. Sam waved back, half a dozen interns and assistants did the same. The entire floor hummed. Someone pulled an honest to God apple pie out of an oven. Clint's shoulders finally relaxed, the smell of burnt crust luring him forward.

"Look," Natasha turned her pumpkin so he could fully inspect it. "It's a Barton pumpkin."

Clint studied it. "It looks like a regular Jack-o-lantern."

"That's what makes it a Barton pumpkin! It's painfully bland."

"Cool, nice to see you, Nat." Clint moved down the line until he reached the open wine bottle. He ignored the glare of the Jack-o-lantern beside it, crossed-eyes and a Marilyn Monroe wig stapled to it. Quill must have been here earlier.

He found a stool and watched Steve sketch triangle eyes onto a pumpkin with a marker, a cup of cider just out of arm's reach. The hands on the clock promised Phil would be home soon. Pepper had just poured him a second glass of cabernet when the conversation finally pulled him in.

"It's nothing."

Thor worked his jaw. "My brother? My brother told you the object was cursed?"

"He took over MY MIND." Clint pointed to his head. "Shit talk is his thing. He cooked up some curse because I ruined his new toy."

"My friend," Thor slapped both hands down on Clint's shoulders. "You should not take this lightly. My brother says a great many things, but he doesn't jest about curses."

Tony's head shot up, pumpkin goop smeared across his face. "He's a trickster god! Look, he was just messing with your head." Tony lifted the top off his pumpkin for emphasis. "Gypsy curses aren't real. Loki is a dick. You're gonna be fine."

"Woah!" Peter yelled with a mouthful of chocolate. "You can't just, like, ignore curses. They're curses!"

Wanda nodded. "This is serious. We should call Doctor Strange."

"Or," Clint lifted a finger. "Everyone here could mind their own fucking business."

"You should warn your loved ones," Wanda folded her arms.

"I'm fairly curse proof." Phil pushed his way into the kitchen. He swiped a turkey sandwich off a platter and finally loosened the knot of his tie.

"You know," Steve continued doodling on his pumpkin. "Jack-o-lanterns were originally brought over from the Celts. They used to carve turnips and place embers in them. Then they got to the New World, found pumpkins were easier to carve, and here we are!"

He finished drawing lips on his pumpkin and stared at it. He blinked intently and held it up.

"Huh," Steve smiled. "It kind of looks like Bucky." He looked at it harder and laughed again.

Natasha grabbed her own wine glass and walked into the living room. "Ok, sure, Steve. Movie time?"

Tiny crystals fell from his shoulders when Phil leaned against him. "So you cursed me, is that what I missed?"

"Allegedly," Clint rested his forehead against Phil's, eyed the door to their penthouse. "Want to go see if you're still lucky in there?"

"Hell no," Sam swooped in. "Hard stop, love bird. Coulson's been talking up the original Halloween for weeks. Jamie Lee Curtis. 1978." He grabbed the bottle of wine and threw himself on a couch. "You're not getting out of this."

-

Clint settled in, an arm over Phil's shoulders. Peter grinned at him from across the room, back pressed against Thor's chest and a gigantic bowl of popcorn in his arms.

Clint balanced his wine on his knee and stared at the television, discreetly signing "new?" in quick hands movements.

Natasha never looked away from the screen, hands briefly signing "maybe".

"Stop that, you two." Pepper pulled her knees up to her chest. "We all know when you're doing that."

"Doing what?" Clint grabbed one of Phil's hands and feigned ignorance.

"Uh-huh," Tony drained a full glass of wine and pressed play.

He relaxed into the couch, felt the weight of Phil's hand in his own. He was strong and warm, his thumb tracing small circles over Clint's knuckles. The eerie tones of Tubular Bells rang from the television but Clint was already fixated on the heat beside him, their legs pressed together and hands intertwined. He studied Phil's features, eyes bleary, content. A relaxed smile lingering on his lips. He hadn't even slipped out of his suit jacket.

Clint let his fingers crawl across Phil's chest. Undid a shirt button. Phil tried to concentrate on the screen, the hitch in his breath the only sign giving him away.

Clint hummed, encouraged. His lips brushed against his boyfriend's ear, soft, buzzing. Phil's exhale was a small laugh, leg bouncing against Clint's. A pair of lips found an earlobe.

"Ok!" Phil shot up from the couch. "We'll be back."

A half-hearted chorus of "yeah ok sure" was mumbled back at him while Michael Myers made his first kill. Phil wrapped his hand around Clint's and yanked him off the couch.

They'd made their way through the darkened living room and into the kitchen when they passed him, whispering to himself. Clint slowed his pace and approached with gentle steps.

"Steve?"

Steve swiveled, took a moment to register Clint and Phil standing beside him.

"Oh hey, guys!" He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

"Agent Rogers, were you just talking to yourself?" Phil still sounded like an officer, even with his suit disheveled and arousal flushing his cheeks.

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "What? No, of course not."

"But we heard you whispering."

"Of course, we didn't want to interrupt the movie."

Clint kept his face neutral, took controlled short breathes as his eyes swept the table for every knife or mallet. Phil crouched down, eyes level with Steve.

"Now who, exactly, is we?"

Steve looked at Coulson as if he'd grown two heads.

"Meee," he stretched the word out and poked himself in the chest with his thumb. Then pointed to the pumpkin beside him. "And Bucky. Obviously. Were we being too loud?"


	2. Natasha

Ever since a pumpkin started telling jokes to Steve Rogers, the debate between "coincidental timing" and "Clint Barton brought back a fucking gypsy curse" raged within Avengers HQ. Steve carried the pumpkin around under his massive arm and laughed spontaneously. The others tried to give him a wide berth.

Tony and Natasha argued for reason. Every member of the team carried a heavy psychological burden; Steve having a mental slip should be expected. Mixing coincidental timing and irrational superstition is how women got burned at the stake. Everyone needed to calm down.

Thor and Wanda strongly disagreed. Thor stuffed herbs inside old sandwich bags and nailed them over every doorway, a quirk Tony only tolerated because he liked the smell of cloves.

Sam desperately tried to reach Bucky in Wakanda.

"Hear me out," he sat with Wanda, tried to convince her not to light torches quite yet. "But what if Bucky really IS inside the pumpkin?"

Wanda threw her hands up. "Then the curse is more strong than we imagined! We must break it and protect everyone that Clint loves."

"Including you." Sam's voice was flat. "Is that what this is? You're scared - now that you've become friends with Clint?"

Wanda drummed her fingers on the table, her espresso cup bouncing. "That's not important. We need to stop it."

-

Clint turned west and tried not to look for his reflection in every window. He pulled up the collar of his coat, fingers running down the back of his neck. Was it getting hairier? No, it was always like that. It's fine, he's fine.

He picked up his pace.

Tony had caught him earlier that morning, two fingers jammed in his own mouth, quietly measuring the size of his canine teeth. Not that it was even possible to turn into a vampire. It was just nice to know. Just like he knew there was a difference between needing a haircut and becoming a werewolf. But it never hurt to be on the look out. Catch it early. Avoid eating your teammates if the hunger of the damned ever overtook you.

"For fuck's sake, stop driving yourself crazy and just go see Strange." Tony had practically pushed him out the door. "I'll have Dummy make something garlic-y for dinner. Ya nutbag."

Clint's rational brain knew Loki made the curse up. He looped around the same block again, practically crawling past the pet store for a third time. No dogs barked. Parakeets didn't claw at the windows. He still had his reflection. Loki totally made it up.

The dick.

Manhattan had been completely taken over by pop-up costume shops. He walked past so many men dressed as hot dogs and dogs dressed as pirates that he wasn't even surprised when a sentient cloak answered the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum. That thing must love this time of year.

"Ugh, hey." Clint waved even though he wasn't sure the Cloak had eyes. "I need to see Doctor Strange."

The cape floated in the air and distinctly shook it's head, or what seemed to be it's head. Clint tried to push past it, was quickly blocked.

"Ooookay." He stood on his tiptoes and tried to look into the building. "Is that a no as in _I can't see him_ or is that a no as in _he's not home?_ "

A nod.

"Right. The second one. Ok what about Wong? ... Please."

A blur of red shook side to side. No.

Great. Clint looped around the pet store one too many times and just missed the only people who could help. The Cloak began to ease the heavy wooden door shut.

"Wait, hold up!" He propped his foot against the door. "You're magic right? And you're kind of alive."

The Cloak reeled back.

"Definitely! Definitely alive. So - I know this sounds ridiculous but - can you tell if I'm cursed? Or run a test or something?"

He was engulfed in red, soft swathes of fabric swirling around him, looping and curling and spinning. Clint felt warm and heavy, just for a moment, before it unspooled before him. He stepped back and stared at the doorway.

A shrug.

"You don't know?! What the hell is that? Look, is there a human in here that I can talk to?"

The Cloak rolled itself into a loop, forming the shape of an O in the doorway. It slowly bowed in the center, becoming a perfectly shaped heart.

"You love me?"

A corner untucked itself from the heart, pointed at Clint and back at itself repeatedly.

"A heart... a heart... my loved ones?"

The Cloak straightened itself out and nodded over and over, suddenly excited about their game of charades.

"I've cursed everyone I love."

Clint closed his eyes and groaned. The Cloak clapped vigorously.

-

Despite it's advanced skills of gesticulation, the Cloak of Levitation couldn't tell Clint how to break the curse. Or if it could be broken. Clint made it promise to alert Strange the moment he was back in the Sanctum.

He had to warn Phil. Clint slipped a gray ceiling tile loose and dropped into his office. He was laying on the floor and flicking pens into the ceiling when Phil walked in.

"Out. I'm working."

"I can't stay up there," Clint sat up. "Steve is making Pumpkin Bucky watch the entirety of Band of Brothers. It's creepy."

"You have five minutes."

Phil listened while Clint recounted his day, watched his hands try to recreate the shapes of the Cloak. Was a flying cape telling you that you're jinxed really that dire? A secret cabal had tried to trigger the apocalypse during Phil's morning coffee. A curse didn't seem like that big of a deal. Plus, he had about fiftee-

"What in the hell is that!" Phil pointed to the carrying case behind his boyfriend. Clint's eyes went wide.

"Don't be mad."

"Get it out of my office, Clint."

Clint held the case up to Phil. A tiny black cat pushed a paw at him.

"He's here to help! See, animals can sense things. The Cloak even said so." Clint pushed the case towards Phil. "This little guy here likes you. He's not hissing or anything, that's got to be a pretty good sign."

The ring from Phil's desk phone was violent, red lights on the side blinking. The kitten instinctively coiled into a ball.

"Get it out!" Phil found his head set, focus shifting entirely. "This is Coulson."

 _"I need an extraction."_ Natasha buzzed in Phil's ear. Clint was already on his feet.

-

Their argument was brief. Natasha was at the Standard Hotel, her cover blown. Clint planned to lead the extraction team. If his curse had caused this, he'd get her out. Until Phil reminded him that, as far as SHIELD was concerned, Clint was never in the office that day. He hadn't broken in through the ceiling and overheard classified information while arguing with his boyfriend about their new cat.

Phil handed him the ceiling tile and told him to go get some rest. That was the end of it.

"Thor!" Clint ran upstairs and slammed his fist against the bedroom door until the god finally cracked it open. "I need transport."

"Archer!" Thor smiled, his bare chest blocking the doorway. He shook his head. "I am busy, but I wish you good luck." The little baggie of spices shook when he slammed the door shut.

Clint sprinted down the hallway.

"Sam! Sam, I need a lift. You can literally drop me off."

Sam took a step back. "You apologize to that gypsy yet?"

"She exploded. So no," Clint rolled his eyes.

"Then nooo."

Tony was out at some speaking engagement. Steve obviously couldn't help. Clint made it up to the top floor. If no one would help him, he'd help himself to a helicopter. He leaned into the retinal scanner and waited.

_"Access to helipad denied."_

"What? Friday, how is this possible?" Clint glared into the camera.

_"SHIELD has temporarily revoked your access to the helipad."_

Fucking Phil. Always thinks he's one step ahead. Clint surveyed the sterile hallway and looked for options. Structural weaknesses. Overlooked details.

He got a running start and prayed his shoes still had tread left on them. He ran at the wall, pushed off one side of the hallway, then the other, then again. He shimmied up the wall, punched the grate off the vent, and pulled himself inside.

"Friday," Clint pulled himself on his forearms. "I know your protocol. If you pump this thing full of fire deterrent, I will choke on the foam and die."

Friday calculated. No reply ever came. He thought he was bluffing but when he made it to Tony's private garage without getting covered in foam he realized it must have actually been true.

He dropped down to the cement, rolling as soon as his feet hit the ground. He'd feel that in the morning. He found a red and gold motorcycle, pulled a vibranium tipped arrow from his quiver and jammed it into the ignition. He revved the engine and tried not to think about how many nights he'd have to sleep on the couch when he got back.

_"Access to helipad denied."_

"What? Friday, how is this possible?" Clint glared into the camera.

_"SHIELD has temporarily revoked your access to the helipad."_

Fucking Phil. Always thinks he's one step ahead.

"Friday, you should be ashamed of yourself." Clint scratched his head and looked around the sterile hallway.

_"Would if I could, sir._

Clint chomped his teeth and calmly walked to the elevator. If he listened closely, he could almost make out the tune of "It's Not Unusual" floating from the elevator speakers.

He made it to the ground floor, waved at the janitor, and turned towards Tony's private garage. He lined his eye up with another scanner.

_"Access not authorized."_

"Alright," Clint smiled at the camera. "That one actually makes sense."

He pulled an arrow from his quiver, thumbed a button along the shaft. A high-pitched beep echoed through the hall.

"So here's the thing. I will blow a hole through this door to get into the garage. And in the process, me and everyone else on this floor will get blown away. You don't want that on your... Friday, do you have hands?"

"No, sir."

"Well then metaphorically, you don't want that on your hands."

The door to the garage buzzed and swung open. He thought he was bluffing but when he made it to Tony's private garage without blowing himself up he realized it must have actually been true.

He spotted a red and gold motorcycle, pulled a vibranium tipped arrow from his quiver and jammed it into the ignition. He ignored the massive thud he heard above him as the building shook. He surveyed the garage, checked pillars for support issues and corners for potential intruders. No red flags. He revved the engine and began winding his way towards the street exit.

_"Access to helipad denied."_

"What? Friday, how is this possible?" Clint glared into the camera.

_"SHIELD has temporarily revoked your access to the helipad."_

Fucking Phil. Always thinks he's one step ahead. Clint put his fist into the wall, the concrete refused to yield against the bones. The hum of pain reverberated up his forearm.

Clint massaged his knuckles on his way to the elevator, made his way to the Avengers' shared kitchen. He couldn't actually be mad at Phil. He'd played a hunch and he played it right - Clint did plan to deliberately disobey him. He tossed a bag of popcorn into the microwave and jammed his thumb on the "popcorn" button three times.

He threw some ice in a bowl and flopped onto their bed. Eventually, Clint told himself, they'd move out of the tower. Get a cottage in Hastings-on-Hudson, or a farm house out near Niagra, or hell just a two bedroom in Red Hook would be enough for Clint. But until then, their penthouse wasn't so bad.

He dunked his aching hand in the bowl, felt a piece of ice melt between his fingers. He listened as the kernels exploded like little firecrackers. The popping slowed and Clint waited, taking in the buttery scent just before it became burnt and dark. He stretched his arms over his head and listened as the popcorn burst into flames.

While Friday diverted power and water, Clint's hands wandered under the pillows and pressed against the headboard. Two swift knocks opened the hollow panel he'd carved.

He grabbed the key card and stashed it in his back pocket. He fixed his hair in the mirror. Straightened a picture tucked into the corner of their mirror. A Polaroid of the two of them celebrating Thor's first Earth birthday, a lit sparkler between Clint's teeth and Phil somehow holding four champagne flutes between his fingers. Polaroid Phil looked sweet. Polaroid Phil would let everyone use the helipad.

_"Your access is still denied, Agent Barton."_

"Yeah-huh," he pulled the master key card from his pocket and held it up to the scanner. "But this badge overrides that access issue."

 _"So it does. Lucky you,"_ Friday affected a perfect monotone as the door to the garage swung open.

He spotted a red and gold motorcycle, pulled a vibranium tipped arrow from his quiver and jammed it into the ignition. He wound through the garage and made his way to the street exit.

Blast doors. Three layers of them, from what he could tell when he rapped his sore knuckles against the metal. No scanner. No Friday. Just some old school blast doors.

-

It took him hours to admit defeat and make his way upstairs. He passed Sam in the hallway without saying a word, keeping a steady stride while his friend's eyes bulged. They were waiting for him in the kitchen. Tony, Natasha, and Phil sitting together at the table, bursting into laughter as he approached. The kitten lounged in a box of mismatched electronics on the table.

He didn't bother to wipe the ash off his face.

Phil tried to keep the smile out of his voice. "Are you ok?"

Clint glared at him and stuck his face under the faucet.

"Real talk," Natasha held up her fork, insane amounts of garlic wafted from the alfredo sauce in front of her. "How many arrows did you detonate before you realized the doors would hold? I just need to know for future reference."

Clint turned off the faucet and shook, water spraying from his hair. He wiped soot from his face with a ruined towel.

"A lot."

"I told you." Tony ripped a $5 bill from Phil's hand. "Only God himself could get through those doors. And maybe Vision. But he'd have to try really hard."

Clint dripped on the floor. "You know, guys, I've already-- Jesus Christ, Nat."

Clint dropped the towel and finally took in the sight of Natasha, piecing together how a routine surveillance job had turned into a full blown extraction squad.

"You like it?" She stroked the column of hair rising from her head. "It's this new Bride of Frankenstein thing I'm involuntarily trying out."

Clint waited for her to make a joke. Not that Nat was much for jokes, but she was always picking up new skills.

"It's stuck like this," she looked Clint in the eyes.

Tony and Phil were both done laughing. Clint pulled a chair from the table.

"Fuck."

"Don't panic," Phil put a hand over Clint's.

Tony nodded. "No one is blaming you. But we do need to put the whole curse thing back on the table."

“Wanda.” Clint couldn’t stop staring at Natasha. “I need to talk to Wanda immediately.”

"Good luck with that," Tony popped his knuckles. “Oh my god - we're being so rude. Do you want Dummy to reheat some alfredo?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Kudos? Holiday related existential concerns? Leave 'em, you beautiful so and so!


	3. Wanda

"Oh shit!" Peter jumped on top of the refrigerator.

"Peter?" Clint yanked the ties on his half-open bathrobe. "What the hell are you doing up? You fucking with the air conditioner?"

Clint tended to wake up if someone three rooms over rolled over, the sound of Phil's teeth chattering in their bed had practically been a cymbal crashing in his ears. He sat up, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Phil was curled into a tiny ball for warmth, blankets piled on top of him and teeth knocking together. The man could sleep through an alien invasion.

Clint winced as warm feet hit cold tile. That had to be a good sign. If he was turning into a zombie he probably wouldn't notice cold floors. He wandered into the kitchen and savored the chill under his toes until he spotted someone else creeping through the darkness.

"Hello?" Clint's voice echoed off the counter tops.

"Oh shit!"

"Peter? What the hell are you doing up? You fucking with the air conditioner?"

Peter crouched on top of the refrigerator, shoulders relaxing when he realized he wasn't under attack. Clint flipped on a light.

"Get down from there. Christ."

Peter crawled from the refrigerator, pupils still dilated. He opened the metal door and retrieved a water jug, holding it to his lips with both hands.

Clint waited. Tapped his foot on the cold ground while Peter sucked down a full gallon of water. He looked towards the windows, pretending to wait on Peter while actually studying his reflection in the windows. He was shirtless, skinny legs floating in gigantic pajama pants that were rolled multiple times at the waist. Clint could make out little red splotches along his collar bone. His hair couldn't decide if it wanted to cling to his forehead or stick up in the back so it did both.

Peter sucked in a deep breath when he'd drained the water. "Nice robe."

"Shut up." Clint pointed at the sink for Peter to refill the filter. "You work up a thirst turning down the thermostat?"

Peter shook his head. "No, sir. Mr Rogers did. He, um, he said it was good. For Bucky. He wants to preserve him and all."

Clint flicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Steve was already becoming more erratic. "I see. And you, you think it'll preserve _Bucky_?"

Peter slid the filter back into the fridge and leaned against it, relief playing out on his face as he pressed against the cold metal.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you think it will. Preserve. Bucky."

He may have been one hell of a web spinner, but Peter was most definitely not a poker player, guilt written upon his face as he shook his head no.

"I think it'll preserve his pumpkin. And that - that's what he needs right now. So it's really not a big deal just to be nice about it, ya know? It's a little cold but I don't mind. Really I don't. I don't even remember which pumpkin is which, to be honest. It's not Mr Rogers's fault he's curs-"

"Uh-huh," Clint folded his arms, Peter watched his nostrils flare as he exhaled.

"No, I didn't-. Clint, I mean-." He ran a hand through his hair and puffed. "Ok. Have a goodnight."

"Not so fast," Clint grabbed him by the arm before Peter could disappear down the hall. He put both hands on Peter's bare arms, squared him up.

"Hey, kid. It's not really my place but do we need to have a birds and bees chat? Or a... bees and the bees?" Clint hated himself before the sound had left his lips but he knew Phil would kill him if he didn't try to help the boy out.

Peter's eyes bulged. "No! No-no, that's I'm, we're." His entire chest flushed red. "No. Thank you."

Clint watched as Peter nodded gravely.

"Alright. Well, we don't have super strength or anything, but we're here if you need to talk to some regular old humans. Well, Phil is here if you need to talk. I'm here if you need to learn how to tie a strong knot or something."

Peter's face burned so red he may as well have pulled his mask over his head

"Shit, not like that." Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, good talk."

-

Steve's behavior definitely got more erratic. The AC was one thing, it wasn't hurting anyone beside Phil's teeth. But when Wanda caught him about to peel his own hand with a paring knife, turning down the AC didn't seem like such a big deal.

"We must care for Steve. Take shifts." Wanda whispered to Sam. Steve loudly sipped a cup of water. She would only allow him room temperature drinks.

"I can hear you, you know." He leaned over the back of the couch. "We could all be vegetables, Wanda! But you wouldn’t know because you’re too scared to just _dig_ a little."

"Steve, buddy," Sam was already losing his patience with the situation, stalling for time until everyone else made it home. "I don’t think you’ll remember this once we find Strange to fix this but you are literally out of your gourd right now."

Steve shook his head and let out a little laugh, then erupted into hysterics when he looked down and made eye contact with Pumpkin Bucky.

Wanda took the first shift, pretended to watch Band of Brothers with Steve and Pumpkin Bucky. She waited until the mortar explosions of battle scenes fully absorbed Steve to discreetly twist her fingers into a hex.

She couldn’t seem to reach Strange. Found nothing when she searched for Wong. It was a new skill that slipped between her fingers whenever someone was in reach. She could get to the Cloak, the Eye of Agamotto. Relics hummed but she couldn’t beseech a sorcerer from the living room couch.

Sam was busy pulling shots of espresso for their new babysitter's club when Clint sprinted by, begging to be flown halfway across the city.

“Did you apologize to the gypsy?” He watched sweat roll down Clint’s face.

“She exploded. So no.”

Sam held his hands up in defense. “Then nooo.”

By the time Peter resurfaced from wherever he was hiding, Wanda and Sam had finally convinced Steve to take a break from TV and take a bath. A large basin and hot water seemed like the safest place to send him while they both rested. Sam propped Bucky up on a countertop while Peter rifled through cupboards.

“Hey, do we have any more saffron?” He held up half a sandwich bag stuffed with Thor’s spices. His face alight, eyes hazy as he studied the row of spices, the afterglow that clung to him was nearly a palpable mist.

Sam shrugged “Hell if I know.”

“They’re supposed to help. Did you know saffron is a big deal in Asgard? They’ve even fought wars over it. Apparently it’s magical. Cool, huh?”

“I didn't know that, Peter. No one on Earth would know that. Unless they were either from Asgard or, maybe, sleeping with someone who was.”

Peter’s back stiffened. He feigned interest in the back row of the cupboard.

“Where you been all morning, bud?”

Before Peter could stammer out an answer, Sam picked up a pumpkin and shoved it into his hands.

“You know what, never mind. You’re on Steve duty now. Make him something to eat. Just keep him away from the gym. And knives. And cooking shows.” Sam clasped his hands together. “Just distract him. Wanda and I need to have a chat.”

-

He couldn’t speak about it in front of Steve, but Sam was having no luck contacting the real Bucky in Wakanda.

"Hear me out," he slid the balcony doors shut while Wanda sipped another espresso. “But what if Bucky really IS inside the pumpkin?"

Wanda threw her hands up. "Then the curse is more strong than we imagined! We must protect Coulson. Natasha. Everyone that Clint loves."

"You," Sam's voice was flat. "Is that what this is? You're scared now that you've become friends with Clint."

She drummed her fingers on the table, refused to smile at the insinuation that Clint had grown to care for her or acknowledge the fact that his affection was now an actual curse.

"That's not important. We need to stop it."

She pulled the glass doors open and immediately felt the wall of sound slam into them.

A wail shook the walls, men screamed, glass and tiles broke. The floor shuddered under their feet. Sam tried to put an arm in front of her and push inside the tower first. Wanda ducked and sprinted ahead.

The smell of burning flesh met them in the kitchen.

Steve was on his knees, thrashing on the ground. He held a metal tray in his hands, skin nearly burnt onto it. They couldn't understand a word coming from his mouth.

"STOP!" Someone yelled above them. "Shit! Stop! It was an accident!" Peter clung to the ceiling by his finger tips.

Thor ran into the room and curled himself around Steve, tearing the tray from his hand.

"What the hell happened in here?" An ambient red glow seeped from Wanda's fists. "I need to know what is happening right now."

Steve desperately tried to pick up little seeds on the ground despite Thor's arms wrapped around him.

"He- he killed him!" He shot a furious gaze towards the ceiling. "You cooked him!"

"Ooooh," Sam tried not to laugh, suddenly understanding. "You tried to roast pumpkin seeds."

"It was an accident!" Peter tried to shrug while upside down. "I didn't know which one was Pumpkin Bucky."

"REGULAR BUCKY!" Steve sobbed and threw himself onto the kitchen floor. Thor let him slip through his arms.

The spark of crimson left Wanda's fingers. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Oh, Peter. You cooked the pumpkin?"

"It was an accident!" Peter yelled again.

"So were you!" Steve cried. Sam had to bite his lip to stay quiet.

Wanda punched at his shoulder. "It's not funny. He thinks Bucky was murdered."

"It's a little funny," Sam countered.

Wanda tried to clear her mind, block out the sight of Steve Rogers rolling around in a pile of pumpkin seeds with one good hand. She could fix this. They'd practiced once before. She closed her eyes and focused.

Past Steve. Past Sam smirking and Peter clinging to the ceiling. Past the chaos off the balcony. She rewound time until her espresso, until it was hot in her hand and bold against her tongue. Strange's Eye of Agamotto both within her grasp and safe in the sanctum at the same time.

"You," Sam's voice was flat. "Is that what this is? You're scared now that you've become friends with Clint."

Wanda's eyes snapped open.

"There's no time!"

She reached for the sliding glass door, fumbling in a hurry, her hand feeling like it slipped past the handle itself. She yanked it open with both hands while Sam looked on, suddenly ready for a battle.

"Thor!" Wanda yelled as she ran. "Help!"

Sam was practically on her heels when they made it into the kitchen. Peter had both of his hands up above his head.

"And what!" Steve's jaw clenched so hard his teeth squeaked. "What is in the oven Peter?"

Before he could answer, Steve tore the door off the oven and looked inside, an unearthly yell escaping him.

"MURDERER!" Steve reeled back. She hadn't gone back far enough.

Peter leaped onto the ceiling as Cap prepared to crush him with the oven door, neither seeing Stormbreaker hurl through the air and crush Steve into the wall. The heavy blow must have shaken the tower from the top floors all the way down to Tony's private garage.

"Away from him!" A crack of thunder rang behind Thor's voice. "You are bewitched, Steven. Young Peter has simply prepared a traditional snack."

Wanda took another deep breath, hands reaching out for the Eye on another plane. Where was Strange when they needed him? She focused. Past Thor's over zealous chivalry and Steve's crushed ribs. Past ovens. Back to her espresso.

Wanda sat in the kitchen and sipped her espresso.

Peter poked his head into the kitchen, hair finally combed. "Is Clint here?"

She shook her head and Peter worked up the bravery to fully enter the kitchen, a pumpkin tucked under his arm.

"Peter," Wanda jumped to her feet, her espresso slipping from her fingers and clattering on the counter top. "Not that one!"

She reached for the pumpkin as Peter held it out to her. Her fingers slipped against it, past it. She tumbled towards Peter and prepared for a crash, prayed she didn't knock the pumpkin out of his hands and onto the floor.

"Woah!" Peter jumped forward. "How did you do that? Did you just learn that?"

Wanda had somehow reached through the pumpkin and stepped all the way _through_ Peter. She'd phased past them.

Shit. Don't panic.

"Peter, can you see me?!"

Peter stared at her, his face blank. "Umm... should I not? I can turn around if you'd like."

"No!" She walked back to her espresso and tried to pick it up. Her fingers simply reached past it, through the cup and the tiny plate and the counter top. As if she'd become a ghost.

-

Peter held up the vacuum. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am." Wanda exhaled slowly. "If we don't do it now, we'll never know."

"Ok." He nodded to Steve, who flipped the switch, the loud buzz making everyone jump. Thor sat on the bed with his fingers over his eyes.

Peter approached slowly, step by step, until the hose was practically through Wanda's head.

"Alright! So now we know!" He turned the vacuum off so he could stop shouting. "You can't get sucked up in the hose. That's a relief."

Thor laughed, his voice deep and resonant. "I'm sorry," he lifted up a hand in apology and tried to stop his laughter. "It's just, Tony once showed me this movie and -"

"I know," Wanda's eyes flashed. "The Ghost Busters are very popular in Sokovia, too."

They grew quiet when they heard the elevator ding, all knowing that Clint must've given up his quest to escape from Tony's garage and come back upstairs. Tony had promised to make him something full of garlic in case he'd become a vampire. They pressed their ears to the wall and strained to make out any intelligible dialogue. Steve held Bucky up towards the air vent.

"Real talk," Natasha's voice was crystal clear through the wall. "How many exploding arrows did you go through before you realized the doors would hold? I just need to know for future reference."

Someone mumbled back a reply, likely Clint. Peter pressed himself flush against the bedroom wall.

"It's stuck like this," he could make out Natasha's voice again. They'd all pretended to be calm once she'd finished filing her reports with SHIELD and made her way upstairs. But by then the pattern was clear - Steve had lost his head and replaced it with a pumpkin, Natasha's Frankenstein hair blew her mission, and Wanda was a vacuum-proof ghost.

"What are they saying," Wanda looked to Peter. When he shrugged she pushed herself up against the wall harder, sifting through the solid wall and spilling out onto the kitchen floor.

She looked up at the others - Clint, Phil, Tony, and Frankenat gathered in a circle.

"Good evening."

Clint dropped his face into his hands.

"Oh right," Tony dropped his fork into a plate of fettucini alfredo. "Wanda is semi-permeable. How do we feel about opening a Malbec?"


	4. Clint

Fury stared down the conference table.

"There are no two ways around it. You're all under house arrest. And you," he pointed at Agent Coulson, "if you so much as think about leaving this compound, you'll be looking at a year of nothing but desk duty. Understood?"

Coulson nodded affirmative.

"Good. Now - where the hell is Strange?"

Wanda raised a hand, hovered in the corner. "We are searching for him. He seems to be between two dimensions."

Fury rolled his eye. "You two have that in common."

"Sir," Steve leaned forward. His eyes were wild, multiple days of scruff ran along his jaw. "Bucky had an idea the other day. Curses can be lifted. We just need to sacrifice a virgin. For the greater good, we must sacrifice Peter."

"Hey," Peter couldn't help looking a little hurt as he folded his arms across his chest. "That's not nice."

"Plus," Tony leaned into Fury's ear, "that ship has sailed. Blown across the Norse Sea, if you catch my drift."

Thor slammed his palm onto the table. "There is no sea by that name."

"Oh, what, you're a cartographer now?" Tony leaned back into his chair.

"I am the God of Thunder!" A streak of lightning lit up the sky behind the conference room.

"Look," Natasha knocked a fist against the table. Everyone did their best to ignore the green tinge her skin had taken on in the last few days, matching her monstrous and rigid hairdo. "We're not sacrificing anyone. Until Strange gets back, we don't have a lot of options. Our best bet is to stay together and protect Coulson."

"Agreed," Fury heaved a sigh. "Until further notice this entire floor is on lock down. I want hourly vitals taken on Coulson. SHIELD will launch a search for Wong and others in the international sanctum network. Dismissed."

He spun out of his chair and pushed through the double doors on his way to the elevator. Clint caught stride with him and walked silently.

"Your loved ones are under attack, Agent." Fury was matter of fact. "Do I have anything to worry about?"

"You, Sir?" Clint hit the down button for him. "I'm confident you won't be affected."

-

Clint tried returning to the scene, a few rotten beets were still being pecked at by pigeons. The crystal dust had blown away. The City of New York made no attempt to fill the small crater he’d made.

He tried telling it he was sorry, after Pepper told him an apology could go a long way. Tony suggested giving it something of his own, so Clint cracked an arrow in half and laid it in the pothole. Thor packed him some miscellaneous spices but the butcher down the street shooed Clint away before he could burn the whole bag. Nothing worked.

At HQ, safeguarding Phil became top priority. Despite his protests, walls were wrapped in foam padding. Friday monitored his breathing patterns while he slept. Tony insisted on measuring his height every morning, though that was more for his own amusement than anything else.

Wanda consulted every Old World fable she could find, making Natasha turn pages for her as they leafed through Russian and Sokovian books together. Sam tinkered with a tiny spectrometer. He held it up to Clint every time he entered a room until the archer finally smashed it against a coffee table one afternoon. Cabin fever set in.

While SHIELD still allowed Clint to leave the tower voluntarily, he'd been barred from the one place he wanted to be - beside Phil.

“Preventative measures,” according to Fury.

Phil spent the work days barricaded in the conference room. He pulled himself out of paperwork every few hours to send Clint stray texts. Remember to feed the damn cat. Remember to feed yourself. The others had super power, Phil Coulson had patience.

Clint spent an inordinate amount of time playing FIFA alongside Peter in a makeshift bedroom.

"So question," Peter chugged half a Mountain Dew. "Should I be offended that nothing is happening to me? I don't, like, _want_ anything to happen to me. But if the curse only affects people you love.."

"Peter," Clint didn't bother looking away from the screen, his entire body listing to one side as he mashed the controller. "What is my last name?"

"Hawk?"

"Go ahead and marinate in that."

Clint slipped a goal through the near post and dropped his controller. He stood and nearly reached the door before he felt something warm tag his shoulder, before he was ripped back to the couch with a flick of the kid's wrist.

"Sorry," Peter forced a smile. "They think that-. Fury says I'm not supposed to let you leave unless absolutely necessary. So unless you really have to pee or Agent Coulson becomes a chupacabra..." He looked down at his controller. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," Clint stretched his legs along the sofa. "We've all followed orders."

-

The Cursed Club met after work, in a spare living room where Wanda, Natasha, Clint, and Steve wasted away the evenings. They tried playing cards the first night but gave up as soon as they realized Wanda couldn't hold them.

"I gotta say, Phil," Natasha joined him on a couch with a bottle of vodka and two glasses. "You're remarkably calm about all of this. You're not even cursed yet."

He set his book down, saw where this was going.

"Not much I can do except try to contact Strange. I can only test my sensitivity to silver so many times." He closed the book and accepted a glass from Natasha. He glanced over his shoulder where Steve was making an oil painting.

"I’m lucky, all things considered."

"Poor Steve," Natasha clanked her glass against his. "At least he's not aware of what's happening. He keeps trying to hogtie Peter but otherwise he's pretty harmless, you know?"

"I hate to see him like this, though." Phil huffed into his glass before taking a deep pull. "How is Clint? Will they let you see him?"

"He's fine," her face revealed nothing. "He's worried about you. The not knowing. Just waiting for this curse to strike. It's getting to him a little."

A little smile flickered across Phil’s lips. He covered his face with his glass. "Worrying is a waste of imagination. It might not even hit me. This thing doesn't follow strict protocol."

"Everyone," Wanda wafted over, a hint of jealousy in her eyes while the two terrestrial friends casually held on to glasses of booze. "Everyone he loves. It's coming for you, Agent Coulson. Denial will not save you."

They looked up at the sound of a gentle knock on the door. Steve was lost in his painting, didn't notice as Thor stuck his head into their living room.

"Greetings, afflicted friends." He stepped into the room, eyes cautious. He clutched a collection of white shards in his arms. Phil leaned forward to inspect his arms as Thor set it down. Bones. A perfectly formed skeleton of a kitten. It jumped from his arms and immediately ran into the corner of the room, found a bottle cap to bat at.

"Oh, lord," Natasha laughed, drained her drink. "The kitten is a skeleton now? Great.”

Thor held his hands up. "It is not her fault. Cursed-in Dunst did not choose to become a skeleton."

Wanda drifted towards it. "I thought we were going with Cursedy Yamaguchi."

"Jinx is more traditional but-" Natasha stopped short as her gaze caught Phil's, searing through the walls.

The cat. After four days in the tower. He’d bet 50 bucks that Clint hadn't even cleaned the litter box yet, and the fucking cat had already fallen victim to the curse. Meanwhile, Phil couldn’t take a leak without SHIELD approval to walk down the hallway and he still had a completely clean bill of health to show for it. No fangs. No adverse reaction to full moons. Not a damn thing. He finished his glass of vodka.

"No," Natasha lunged for his hand as he stood. "Phil, don't do this."

"It's fine," his throat clenched, the strain of keeping his voice steady written across his face. "We're just going to have a little talk."

Thor didn't try to stop him.

-

"Hey!" Clint scrambled onto his feet, suddenly feeling underdressed in his t-shirt and boxer shorts. He brushed crumbs off his chest, reached for Phil's face with both hands.

"Not so fast!" Phil dodged, ducked past Clint's hands and stepped further into the room.

Clint furrowed his brow. "Oh shit, what’d I do? Are you ok?"

"Oh, I'm great, Clint. Great. Been sitting in an unventilated room on a never-ending play date with my lobotomized childhood hero and a woman who is increasingly afraid of candles, so I'd say I'm just sitting pretty. Turns out turning the pages of books for Wanda is really my calling. Yeah, I’m considering going back to school for it. And this cat," Phil finally took a breath. "This cat that showed up in my office the other day. It's a skeleton! That's pretty funny, right?"

Clint studied the man in front of him. "Nothing about that is funny, Phil."

"WELL!" Phil clapped his hands together with manic force. "Then what is it, Barton? Because if I don't laugh, I swear to God I may actually cry!" He forced out a clipped laugh.

Clint looked around the room. Peter tucked his knees to his chest and tried not to breathe. Phil had started to crack.

"Phil, baby, you're kind of worrying me a little."

"I'm worrying you?" Phil pointed at Clint with both hands. "I'm worrying _you._ Which is preposterous because everyone else is worried about me. 'Oh, protect Coulson. Poor Phil.' And then? Nothing!"

He sliced the air with a judo chop.

"Not a damn thing, Clint. Natasha is fucking Frankenstein and Steve is certified bonkers and even Wanda - Wanda of all people - gets to go all Casper on us." Phil shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Everyone you love, apparently..."

Clint nodded recognition. "And you're jealous of... a curse?"

"You never say it! I mean, I _assumed_ it was understood but you've never once said it." Phil paced in front of the couch.

"Baby - stop! Stop it. Phil, I can't tell if you're just going regular crazy or if this is some paranormal shit."

"Nice try, Barton. 'Not being cursed is my curse.' Very clever." He looked around the room when Peter shifted. "Parker, beat it. Go make us some saffron rice or something."

Peter bolted for the door but skidded to a stop in the doorway.

"Wait! I can fix this!" He hopped in place. "Maybe. I've got an idea. Go nowhere!" He sprinted out of the room. Phil slammed the door behind him.

"He's just trying to help!"

"Don't change the subject," Phil tried to steady his voice again, failing this time. "You think I don't know about misdirection?"

"Jesus," Clint pulled at his own hair. "I don't know what to tell you! I love you, Phil. I absolutely do. If you don’t know that then you really are crazy.”

"It doesn't count if you say it now!"

"You're yelling at me for never saying it!" Clint grabbed a pillow off the couch and tore it in half. He could hear the others gathering outside their door. The vultures.

He threw the wasted pillow onto the floor. He'd felt it for a long time. He just never said it. There were certain things better left unsaid. He was the weakest Avenger, even if none of them admitted it. He and Nat were just humans alongside gods. Very public and media-friendly gods. And if they do this- if he says it out loud and they tell everyone at SHIELD and buy rings and hyphenate last names - then Phil becomes a very visible target. Clint's barely strong enough to protect himself out there...

But that was a lot to say. So instead he picked up another pillow and heard himself shout -

"And you never say it either!"

"That's not true. I say it all the time with-with-with my eyes!" Phil could feel himself sputtering.

"Oh that is utter horse shit," Clint ripped the second pillow. "Your goddam eyes, Phil? Everyone I love is turning into fucking Hotel Transylvania and you're speaking to me with your eyes?" He brought his hands to his eyes and pulled them open wide.

"Well it's more than you do," Phil punched one hand into his palm, winced at the impact. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is? Everyone just staring at you, waiting for some curse to fall on your head and realizing what it means when it doesn't."

Clint groaned into his own hands, took a deep breath. Calm down. Restart. He steadied himself, held both hands out in front of him. Phil stared at him for a moment before he reached out in return. They both knew the drill.

"Ok," Clint exhaled. "I hear you. I just need you to understand that you-." Clint flexed his hands in Phil's, turned them over in his own. "Oh my god-"

Phil tried to squeeze his hands. "No, finish your thought."

"Phil, where's your finger?" Clint flipped Phil's hands over again. Panic crept into his voice. "Seriously, baby, what the hell?"

Phil studied his hands, counted his fingers on his right side. One two three four. Four. Four. He scanned the ground, found it lying beside a shredded mass of pillows. Five.

Phil's lips failed him, his jaw suddenly not trustworthy. He was horrified. Touched.

"Oh my God," Clint scooped up the finger, wrapped it in a sock he'd thrown on the floor days ago. "Oh my God, Phil. Are you ok?"

Phil nodded, his neck feeling slightly unhinged. “Finally!”

"You are really going glass half-full here." Clint wanted to kiss him, slap him in the face, surgically reattach his finger.

Phil tried to smile, something in his face creaking as he did. His mouth seemed to go slack before his lower jaw detached from his face. Phil caught it with all nine fingers.

"Dear god!" Clint scrambled for a shirt and wrapped it around Phil's face. "Oh shit. We need a doctor! Friday?! Anyone?!"

"Awww," Phil's jaw wiggled in his own hands, bottom lip quirking up in a smile. "I'm a mummy. That's so sweet."

"HELP!"

-

An obscene amount of gauze and just a little bit of webbing later, most of Phil's body was together. Clint pressed a shoulder into a socket while Peter wrapped it tight. The skeleton kitten, recently rechristened Mr Boo Jangles, chased after the tape that hung from Phil’s ankle.

He was nearly in one piece when Tony drunkenly kicked the door in. Nat had left her vodka unattended, Tony and Sam quickly took advantage of the situation.

"Peter!" The door rattled against the wall. He pointed a wobbly finger at Peter, who took a quick step behind Clint.

"Where is he?" Tony slurred. "Loki! You can't invite that shit in here."

"He's gone," Peter poked his head around Clint. "I just called him for a second, Mr Stark. He already left, I swear."

Tony pursed his lips, nodded. "You can't just invite bad guys into the tower, Peter. He is genuinely just a BAD guy. In aggregate. How did you get around my security? How did you even convince him to come here?"

Tony finally looked around the room, spotted Phil wrapped in gauze. "Agent! You do something different with your hair?"

"Very funny," Phil mumbled.

Tony turned back to Peter. "Loki tell you how to fix this?"

"Yes, Mister Stark."

"And now he's gone."

"Yes, Mr Stark."

Tony bobbled his head from side to side. "Eh. Good work." He turned back to the doorway, inspected the hinges he'd broken with his boots.

"Hold up!" He swirled around, one finger up. "So you and Thor, huh?"

Peter looked to Clint and Phil, who both nodded at him. He stepped forward, pulled at the cuff of his sleeve with one hand.

"Yeah, kinda. Yeah."

"You know he's, like, 300 years old."

"I know, Mr Stark."

Tony's eyes cleared for a moment as he considered Peter in front of him, his brain attempting to reject the idea that his young charge was a consenting adult.

"Ok."

He turned and walked out of the room, screaming down the hallway, "Someone get me Thor!"

As far as curses go, this one was fairly rudimentary. Anyone who stole the gorgon's tiara also wore the curse upon his head. The moment Peter realized that Clint had kept a tiny vile of crystal powder on the same chain as his dog tags, they were in the clear.

Phil was incredulous that Clint would be dumb enough to take a vile of crystal dust in the first place, but gathering evidence was in his nature. The three of them maneuvered Phil out onto the balcony and Clint slid the glass vile off the chain.

"Will you do the honors?" He placed the vile in Phil's hand. It looked like his boyfriend tried to smile back.

"Gladly."

Phil leaned back and hurled the vile down towards the street with a rigid elbow. All three watched as his arm followed with it.

"Nuts."

"Holy crap!" Peter clutched the railing, watched the tiny blue explosion of the vile shattering on the pavement. "What happens if we don't reattach his arm before the curse stops?"

Clint kissed the top of Phil's head and was already half way to the elevators before Peter could finish his sentence. Phil laughed into his wrappings.

"You worry too much," Phil reclined into a chair. "You did good work today, Peter."

"Thank you, Mr Coulson." Peter pulled a chair alongside Phil's. Sat silently for a moment before going out on a limb.

"You know, Loki refused to help me at first. Thor literally twisted his arm, it was gross.”

“I bet,” Phil acted casual.

“Yeah! So, allegedly, somebody already bartered with him - he had a fresh supply of saffron. Someone got the same information from him the day of the gorgon attack."

Phil rubbed his shoulder joint where his arm had detached, a gruesome but lovely reminder of what the curse meant. "Some missions are combat, Peter. Some are fact-finding. I confirmed what I needed to know."

"Uh-huh," Peter stared at the ground, Clint waved up at them with Phil's arm.

"What's it going to take to keep this between us?" Phil waved back with his good arm.

"The helipad," Peter waved with both hands just because he could. "I think I want to get my pilot's license."

"Deal."

"Really?!" Peter stomped his feet. "No way! This is so cool. I was gonna say you two need to just learn to talk about things but this is way cooler. Ned is going to flip!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - and THANK YOU so much for everyone who left kudos and comments. Happy Halloween you spooky assholes!


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